


Daisies and Dandelions

by OrangeChickenPillow



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Best Friends, Bonding, Children, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Bonding, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, Geraskier, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Male Bonding, Male Friendship, Parent-Child Relationship, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Romance, Platonic Soulmates, Romantic Fluff, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:35:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28075566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeChickenPillow/pseuds/OrangeChickenPillow
Summary: On one of their many adventures, Geralt and Jaskier stumble across a fog that conceals a sinister creature.When the two find a child lost in the woods, the young girl takes a liking to the burly Witcher. Jaskier, who feels ignored, takes this personally (of course). When the girl's mother comes looking for her, the bard and the Witcher are welcomed into her home, and enjoy a night in the company of a kind stranger.
Relationships: Geralt & Jaskier, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt/Jaskier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!   
> This is my first Witcher fanfiction. I've only watched the Netflix show (though I do plan on reading the books) so my apologies if some aspects of the story aren't accurate. 
> 
> This was really fun to write, and I plan on releasing a chapter every day, so stay tuned, if you're interested ;)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“Remind me again why we’re headed towards a village that isn’t big enough to be marked on a map?” The bard asked as he walked alongside Roach, doing his best not to trip on the roots, stones, and holes that covered the forest floor. 

Geralt sighed and, in an exasperated tone said, “Because, Jaskier, I’m not exactly the Continent's most favorite person. Smaller is safer.”

Jaskier could tell that the brief explanation was all he was going to get from his big burly friend. The bard scoffed. 

“Well, I for one prefer to stay in villages that, at the very least, have a nice inn…” He paused, and the Witcher was too keen on the bard’s character to have hopes of the conversation’s end. 

“Pubs… pubs are also good,” Jaskier continued after a fleeting moment of silence, waving a pointed finger towards Geralt. 

The Witcher grunted, and Jaskier rolled his eyes. 

“Well, at least tell me how close we are, then? I’m tired of walking. And,” the bard’s voice raised an octave, meaning, the Witcher knew, that he was nowhere near done complaining. “I’ve nearly tripped a hundred times. These forests are like land mines, we’re lucky I haven’t snapped my neck.”

It was Geralt’s turn to roll his eyes, though he had to grimace to keep the smirk off his face. 

“What a shame that would be,” Geralt said dryly.

“Indeed it would. A tragic loss,” the bard agreed, pointedly ignoring the Witcher’s sarcasm. 

Geralt sighed. “We’re about half a day,” he said, answering the bard’s long forgotten question. 

Jaskier looked up at him, brow furrowed. “What?”

“You asked how close we are,” Geralt growled. 

“Oh, right. Well, I suppose I’ll manage then,” Jaskier chirped, turning his gaze towards what was in front of him. 

The two fell into silence. Jaskier had talked, which was when he was the most comfortable. Now the bard would submit to the horrible claws of silence, if only for the sake of his beloved Witcher; Geralt struggled with conversation, Jaskier knew, and the bard tried his very best to allow for some hours of silence, to indulge his friend. 

Likewise, Geralt knew that continued silence was difficult for the bard and made him uncomfortable, so the short-speaking Witcher tried his very best to keep up with any conversation that Jaskier threw his way; a feat that could prove to be difficult for even the most chatty of humans, let alone someone like Geralt of Rivia. 

But now was the time for silence. Their relationship was full of give and take, and right now, Jaskier knew it was his turn to give. 

Geralt felt himself relax again, taking in the woods around them, always aware of their surroundings. The forest had initially been thick, so much so that Geralt had to walk beside Roach, rather than ride. The trees were close together, their branches reaching out and intertwining above the travelers’ heads. Though Geralt had brushed off Jaskier’s complaints about the footing, he knew the bard was justified; the forest floor had been full of tripping hazards.

But the closer they got to their destination, the more open the space around them grew. About half an hour passed, and Geralt’s suspicions were confirmed; they had reached a bare spot in the forest. Before them lie what looked like a valley. The trees suddenly stopped, letting the ground even out. Desperate looking grass sprouted up, mixing with dead leaves and pine needles. 

Geralt brought Roach to a halt so he could better observe what was before them. In the newfound silence, he could hear the bard’s labored breath. Sometimes Geralt forgot that Jaskier was only a human. A twinge of guilt pierced his heart: he really should pay more attention to his friend’s needs.

“Let’s stop here,” Geralt said in his usual even tone. “To rest,” he added, as if there was a need to tell the exhausted bard what to do. 

“Oh goody,” Jaskier sighed as he plopped himself down into the grass. “I was wondering when you’d let me take a breather.”

The twinge of guilt grew into more of a strum. 

“Sorry,” Geralt said awkwardly - that was not a word he said often. 

Jaskier watched Geralt as he dismounted, letting Roach graze in the sparse grass. The Witcher kept his back turned, as if he wanted to avoid meeting the bard’s eye.   
“Ah,” Jaksier said, waving his hand. Then he immediately felt foolish for doing so, given that Geralt would not have seen the gesture. 

“Don’t you worry about me,” he clarified. “If I’ve learned anything from my adventures with you, it’s how to walk until my legs fall off.” 

The bard worked to slow his labored breathing. 

“Well, that and what not to say to a drunk Witcher,” Jaskier added with a thoughtful tilt of his head. “Or a sober one, actually.”

Geralt exhaled a puff of air through his nose, something Jaskier had long ago determined as the Wticher’s way of laughing. The bard grinned, then flopped backwards onto his back, letting himself be enveloped by the grass as his heart rate pleasantly slowed. 

Leaning against a tree, the Witcher took a long drink out of his flask. When Jaskier finally sat up, Geralt tossed it to him, a little too forcefully than he had intended. The bard had to lean to the side, stretching his arms out to reach it. He caught it, giving a shout of celebration before falling back into the grass with a thud. 

“Oi, ouch - my head,” Jaskier moaned as he sat up. 

“Mmm,” Geralt grunted softly. “Sorry.” That was twice in one day. Geralt shook his head: only Jaskier could drag such a response out of him. 

The bard took a long swig of the water, then said, “But I caught it. Even such a horrible toss as that one,” shooting the Wticher a teasing wink. 

Geralt grunted again, this time not bothering to hide the smirk from his face. 

“Let’s see you do better then, bard.”

Jaskier raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Oh yeah? Well then. You asked for it.”

He raised an arm above his head dramatically, launching the flask in Geralt’s direction. 

It sailed to the left of the Witcher, missing its mark by several feet. 

Geralt dodged to the side, snapping out his arm to catch it firmly, all the while keeping his eyes locked on Jaskier. When he felt the flask in his hands, he tilted his head and raised an eyebrow at the bard, who was watching him with his mouth agape. 

“Well-- I--” The bard stammered, thinking up excuses. Then he seemed to decide on an argument, as he pointedly said, “That’s cheating, you can’t use your witchy-witch powers to best me.”

The Witcher’s brow knitted up, conveying his skepticism. “Really? Maybe throw less like a blind monkey next time.”

Jaskier gasped, bringing a hand to his chest as if he’d been seriously wounded. 

“I can’t just go around throwing things,” Jaskier said with mock horror, gesturing dramatically.

“These precious hands are made for one thing and one thing only, and that is masterfully playing the lute. Well, that and for the pleasures of--”

“Okay,” Geralt interjected, raising a hand, “I’m going to stop you there.”

Jaskier smirked back. 

Turning serious then, Geralt said, “We should get moving.” 

The bard groaned, falling onto his back again. Geralt seriously wondered if he’d start to inflict brain damage, continually doing that. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier whined. “We just stopped, and you want to get moving again? How do you expect me to manage?”

The Witcher smiled sweetly. “Oh, I imagine you’ll find a way. Especially if you want to sleep in a bed tonight, as opposed to spending another night outdoors.”   
It didn’t take long for the threat to get Jaskier moving, and soon they were on their way again. 

The clearing proved to be more than only an open space, but rather the end of the forest. A few trees sprung up here and there, but for the most part, the ground was clear, much to the relief of the bard. They traveled on like this for a few miles. 

Then, out of the calm and quiet, it came.

The Witcher, with his keen sense of smell, sensed it before it reached them. Or rather, before they reached it. 

It was a fog, misty grey and near impossible to see through. Geralt could sense that it had descended on this part of the woods several days ago, and had lingered ever since. Geralt could smell the death that it had brought with it. 

“Jaskier, grab Roach’s saddle,” Geralt said suddenly, his voice low with concentration. 

“What? I thought you said to never touch--” The bard’s protests were cut off. 

“Dammit Jaskier, just do it,” Geralt barked. 

In that moment, Jaskier began to feel afraid, because Geralt never snapped at him like that unless something was really wrong. Teased and insulted him, yes, but never shouted. 

Jaskier’s hand shot out quickly, grasping one of the many leather straps that hung off the saddle. 

“Wha-- what’s…” Jaskier was too tense to finish his question, which made the Witcher begin to feel -- not exactly afraid, but uneasy. Jaskier was only ever at a loss for words when he was especially frightened, Geralt had noticed. 

The Witcher wasn’t the best at dealing with human emotion. However, he did try his best, and the constant time spent with the bard had provided him with many opportunities to try and figure out how humans worked. Or at least, this particular human. And Geralt had found that, with this particular human, it worked best if he explained everything that was happening. It was annoying and, in his opinion, a grand waste of time, but it was far better than Jaskier becoming so frightened that he couldn’t get himself out of trouble, which had happened on more than one occasion. 

So, rather than have to worry about the bard - though, deep down he knew he still would - Geralt had gotten in the habit of being painstakingly clear with Jaskier.   
“Something’s coming. A fog. It smells like death, so it’s not good news. Hold onto the saddle, don’t let go,” Geralt said firmly, turning to look down at Jaskier.   
The bard looked up at him with fear in his eyes. That was another thing Geralt noticed: Jaskier never hid his fear from the Witcher - never even tried to. That sort of vulnerability was new to Geralt, and it gave him conflicting feelings. 

“Do you understand, Jaskier? I don’t want to lose you in it.”

The bard nodded his head, his brown hair flopping against his forehead. 

“Alright then,” the Witcher said, righting himself in the saddle. 

He pulled his sword from its sheath. He could hear Jaskier’s rapid heartbeat hammering below him. 

Urging Roach forward, they hesitantly picked their way across the field. 

After a mere few steps, the fog drifted into view. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier said in a high, fretting voice. 

The Witcher was too focused to respond. In fact, he barely heard the bard as they moved forward. Every ounce of his attention was focused on the fog, which was creeping towards them. They met it halfway, and the thick cloud of grey swallowed them up.


	2. Chapter 2

Jaskier could barely distinguish the outline of his friend in swirling mist. Thankfully, Geralt was a rather enormous figure, which made it a little easier to keep track of him. When they had entered the fog, the Witcher had stiffened almost immediately. Jaskier had tried desperately to get an explanation from the man, but Geralt was in the zone, and therefore had as much conversational skill as a brick wall. 

When Geralt had jumped off his horse, shouting to the bard to “hold Roach,” and disappeared off into the fog, Jaskier had nearly suffered a heart attack. 

“Geralt? Geralt, don’t leave me here all by--”

But the bard’s words were drowned by a sudden, horrible scream. 

Roach jumped, pinning her ears. Jaskier jumped too, holding tighter to the saddle. 

Another gut-churning screech came, this time accompanied by the heavy sound of wings, the motion of which must have cleared away some of the fog, as Jaskier was able to spot Geralt only a few paces away. 

Then Jaskier saw it; a winged creature the size of a horse was hovering above the Witcher’s head. The beast was covered in thick, slimy looking fur, and had two skinny arms towards the front of its body, where a short stubby beak emitted another shrill scream. On the end of each bony arm were three terrifyingly long talons. 

They slashed and swept at Geralt, who was dodging and swinging his sword at the beast, but to no avail. Every time the Witcher advanced, the creature gave a flap of its wings, and rose higher into the air, only to return a few moments later to take a swipe at him. 

Jaskier watched, feeling utterly helpless as the creature, the fog, and his friend all swirled in front of his eyes. 

Then the beast landed a blow on the Witcher. One of its pointed talons reached forward, slashing Geralt’s arm. The silver of his armor began to turn red as Jaskier watched in horror. Geralt swung his sword, desperately trying to protect himself. 

Looking around frantically for a way to help, the bard spotted the long dagger that Geralt kept on his saddle. Jaskier pulled it eagerly from its sheath. 

With one hand planted firmly on Roach, and the other grasping the weapon, Jaskier took a deep breath. 

“We better survive,” he muttered. “This will make a fantastic ballad.”

And with that, he raised the dagger above his head, throwing his arm forward and launching the knife at the beast. 

It was a good thing the creature was a big target; Jaskier’s hands really weren’t meant for throwing. 

But in a heroic moment that the bard would sing of for ages, making Geralt wish his hearing wasn’t so acute, the blade struck the creature, slicing along its shoulder before dropping to the ground. 

The beast howled and turned towards the bard, who’s moment of triumph quickly drained from his face, along with all of his blood. 

“Geralt,” a panicked Jaskier called. 

But there was no need. The Witcher had already lunged for the creature, jumping into the air, his sword raised above his head. With a swift and powerful slice, the beast fell to the ground in two separate halves, its wings twitching frantically for a moment before falling still. 

The Witcher was breathing heavily, his front half covered in the monster’s dark red - almost black blood. Geralt pushed his shoulder forward, giving an absentminded glance at the wound on his upper arm. He grunted, then kicked a foot at the fallen beast. He had cut it right down the middle, its insides spilling out into a steaming puddle. 

“Oh -- Oh, that is -- I think I’m gonna be sick,” the bard croaked, gagging slightly. 

Geralt smirked, the skin around his eyes crinkling with the gesture. 

“Come on, Jaskier. You wanted adventure,” Geralt gestured with his sword to the pile of mangled beast and guts, “Here’s your adventure.”

Geralt pulled a canvas cloth from Roach’s saddle and began wiping the blood from his armor.

With a hand placed on his sternum, a sickly looking Jaskier gulped. 

“Yes, I suppose the one good thing to come out of this endeavor is that I’ll have another delightfully...captivating… Uhh, Geralt?” As the bard grew distracted, his voice became alarmingly serious. 

The Witcher trained an intense look on his companion, waiting in vain for him to continue. 

“What? Jaskier, what is it?” Geralt asked, his voice urgent and a little annoyed. 

“I swear I saw… Like, a flash of red over in that direction,” the bard said, pointing ominously into the fog, which had started to clear now that the strange creature was dead. 

“Red? What kind of red, exactly,” Geralt asked, put off by the bard’s vagueness. 

“Uhh, I dunno, like a cloak maybe,” Jaskier said, slowly drawing his gaze away from the fog to meet the Witcher’s questioning eyes. 

Geralt could tell the bard was being entirely serious, so he pivoted slowly on his heels to face the direction Jaskier had pointed out. 

With his enhanced vision, Geralt sought the flash of red that Jaskier claimed to have seen. 

He sniffed the air, and caught a whiff of… something - he couldn’t quite tell what. Like campfire smoke and soap. And tears. He could smell tears. 

Focusing his hearing, he picked up the sound of movement from something small. It sounded frantic and terrified. 

Geralt sighed, which sounded more like a grunt to Jaskier. 

“What?”

“Hmm.”

What, Geralt?”

The Witcher backed up until he was standing next to Jaskier. 

In a low, almost forcibly calm voice, Geralt said, “I think there’s a child,” he pointed to a spot in the mist. 

“It smells… afraid.”

Jaskier looked at him with an expression of disbelief. 

“You’re pulling my leg -- O-okay, you’re not -- you’re not pulling my -- okay, I get it,” Jaskier said hurriedly after Geralt shot him a fierce scowl. 

The bard put his arms up in surrender, and the Witcher grunted hesitantly. 

“I need -- Do you think you could call to it, or something?” Geralt awkwardly asked after a moment of silence. 

“Wha-- me?” Jaskier exclaimed. “Why don’t you do it?”

Jaskier immediately regretted asking such a question. He knew why Geralt didn’t think he could do it; the Witcher, bless his burly soul, was sure that he would scare the child off. Geralt believed that he would be more frightening to the child than the winged beast could’ve ever been. 

Jaskier watched his friend carefully, but none of this was revealed through the Witcher’s face. Jaskier just knew. 

“Alright, I’ll do it - but no promises,” he said, trying to keep the mood light. He didn’t want the Witcher to feel bad. 

Jaskier took a hesitant step forward, then peered around to look back at Geralt awkwardly. The Witcher tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. 

Jaskier sighed. “Some help you are,” he muttered to himself. 

Then he called out into the fleeing fog, using his ‘entertainer’ voice. 

“Uhh, hello out there…. Uh… we’re not going to hurt you. We’re friends,” he said with growing confidence, turning back to smile smugly at Geralt. 

“We want to help you, so uh… come on out, then!”

He heard Geralt groan behind him. 

The bard spun around. “Well, I don’t see you doing any better, mister, so just shut it why don’t you -- what?” Geralt had taken a step back, looking more than a little self-conscious. 

Never in all their adventures had Jaskier seen his friend look so off-put. The bard felt his limbs stiffen in anticipation of what he might find behind him. Had the beast come alive somehow? Or maybe the creature had been a mother, and now its babies were coming to eat him alive.

Jaskier turned around solemnly, ready to face his fate. 

Before him stood a small child, her shoulders draped in a red cloak that was far too big for her small frame. The cloth seemed to envelope her whole body, trailing along the ground, its edges covered in mud and twigs.


	3. Chapter 3

Geralt was right - she looked terrified. Jaskier could see that she was relieved to have come across people, but he could also tell that she was weary of them. 

He kneeled down. 

“It’s alright, we’re not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice soft and genuine. “My name is Jaskier, and this,” he swept his arm behind him to reveal Geralt, who had backed up until he was practically behind Roach, “is my friend Geralt.”

There was a moment of silence. Jaskier looked lost. 

“Uh… what’s your name?” 

The girl stood before them looking conflicted. Her eyes darted between the kneeling Jaskier, Geralt, and Roach. Her eyes lingered on the latter two. 

“What’s your horse's name?” She asked. Her voice was barely a whisper, and Jaskier had to lean forward to hear. Geralt of course, heard her clearly. 

“This is Roach,” Geralt surprised Jaskier by speaking up. What surprised Jaskier even more was how gentle the Witcher’s voice was. 

The bard scoffed slightly, wondering why this random girl that they’d barely just met got the nice treatment, when Jaskier had been traveling with Geralt for several months and all he’d gotten was grunts. 

The girl stood completely still, thinking the name over. Geralt watched her closely, wanting to see how she reacted to him. 

“That’s a strange name,” she wondered aloud. 

“Ha - see? I told you so, Geralt,” Jaskier chimed in, twisting around to pull a face at the Witcher. 

The two had gotten into day-long debates over the name of the horse. Jaskier claimed that Roach was a horrendous name for such a fine steed, but Geralt was hell-bent on his decision, and would take no criticism from the bard. 

“I like it,” the girl said decidedly. 

Jaskier deflated, knowing that he had just lost the argument for good. 

Geralt smiled - an actual, big, beautiful smile - and Jaskier felt himself growing even more annoyed. 

The Witcher gave a small, pleased grunt. 

The girl seemed to have decided that she could trust these two strangers. Maybe it was the trustworth look about Roach that put her at ease. 

She shyly crept closer to them, which allowed both men to get a better look at her. 

She was filthy; covered in mud and leaves. She looked thin and exhausted, and the mud on her face was streaked from tears. 

She couldn’t have been older than eight. 

Jaskier had just begun to say something he hoped would be reassuring when she walked right past him without a second glance. 

Jaskier, who was used to being the center of childrens’ attention, thanks to his lovely musical abilities, was personally offended by this. 

It got worse when the girl walked right up to Geralt as if he were the only person in the entire forest. 

“Can I pet her?” The little girl asked timidly, looking up at the Witcher with soft doe-brown eyes. 

“Uh… sure,” The Witcher said, visibly uncomfortable. 

His uncomfort grew when the girl, who barely reached past the horse’s knees, reached out towards Geralt. 

“Uh, Jaskier?” Geralt said, and the bard would have laughed at how hopelessly lost Geralt sounded, if he hadn’t been too busy being offended. 

The bard just shrugged his shoulders. 

Geralt looked down at the girl, who was staring at him eagerly, as if she were a snake that might strike. 

Then he did something Jaskier never would have thought he’d see. Something Jaskier wouldn’t have believed, had he not personally witnessed it. 

Geralt leaned down, put his big gloved hands under the girls arms, and picked her up. 

Jaskier watched in disbelief as Geralt, the mighty Witcher, held the little girl up so she could pet Roach’s forehead. 

“Be nice, Roach - this is a friend,” Geralt warned the horse, who was being surprisingly gentle with the girl. 

When Roach brought her muzzle up to sniff the girl’s face, the child’s laugh rang out into the forest. 

Geralt glanced at the girl in his arms, while still keeping a close eye on Roach to make sure the mare behaved, and began to question her gently. 

“Where are your parents?”

The girl’s smile drained away at this question. She looked into the Witcher’s face with wide, tearful eyes. 

“I dunno. We were walking home, and then I couldn’t see, and then my Mama was gone, and then I heard a monster, and then--” The girl started to sniffle as she squeezed her eyes shut. 

All of Jaskier’s annoyance fled, and his face softened with heartache for what the girl had gone through. She was so little, and knowing how frightened he’d been, he couldn’t imagine how terrifying the experience had been for her. And he’d had Geralt to protect him - she’d been all alone. 

Speaking of Geralt, the Witcher, still holding the child in his arms, was looking more uncomfortable by the second. But Jaskier could tell that he felt for the child, and wanted to comfort her, he was just having a hard time working out how exactly to do so. 

When big tears began to roll down the girl’s dirty face, he finally spoke up. 

“Alright - hey, it’s alright now. We’ll find your mother,” he said as gently as he possibly could. 

Jaskier could tell he was taking great pains to try and sound comforting, and his heart melted at the scene. Geralt really was a big softie at heart, he just had a hard time showing it. The bard knew it helped that the girl wasn’t afraid of him. 

In fact, it was quite the opposite. The girl seemed to have found safety in the Witcher, and realized that he was going to help her. 

Trembling slightly, the child wrapped her arms around the Witcher’s neck, holding on tightly and burying her head against his shoulder. 

Geralt grimaced, looking at Jaskier for help. Instead, he found the bard staring fondly at him, hands on his chest. 

“Isn’t this just so sweet. The songs it’ll inspire will melt even the coldest of hearts.”

The Witcher looked as if he would growl at Jaskier, but suddenly remembering the child bundled up in his arms, he was forced to settle with an angry scowl. 

The bard just laughed, still gazing lovingly at the whole scene. 

Turning to the girl and finding that she was still clinging tightly to his neck, Geralt laid a band on her back, patting it gently. 

“Uh, what’s your name, child?” He asked. 

“Madeline,” she responded in a small voice. 

“Alright Madeline. Where are you from?”

At this, the girl leaned back so she could look the Witcher in the eye. 

“Umm…” Her face was screwed up with concentration. 

“Uh, I don’t know…” Geralt sighed, wondering how they’d find the girl’s guardian if she couldn’t even remember where she’d come from.

“It’s near here, though,” she exclaimed. “Mama says it’s the only village for miles!” The girl adopted an almost bragging tone. 

Geralt looked at Jaskier, both men thinking the same thing; with any luck, the girl’s home would be in the village they were headed to. 

But before Geralt could ask the girl anything further, a piercing cry broke through the silence of the forest. 

“Maddie! Madeline!” It was a woman’s voice, shrill and desperate. 

“Over here,” Jaskier called back immediately. “We’ve found her, she’s over here!”

Geralt tensed, uneasy about making their presence so blatantly known. 

The girl squirmed in his arms, then leaned close to his ear and whispered, “I think that’s my Mama.”

The Witcher gave her a fleeing glance before focusing his eyes on the direction the woman’s voice had come from.

After a few seconds, a figure appeared. A short, slim woman stepped into view. In her shaking hands was a ragged looking knife. 

Geralt wrapped one arm a little tighter around the girl, resting his free hand on his sword, just in case. 

But there was no need. 

“Mama,” the girl squealed. 

“Maddie, oh thank the gods,” the woman sighed, relieved. 

Geralt quickly put the girl down, allowing her to run to her mother, who eyed the two men wearily. 

Geralt nodded to her, hoping desperately that she wouldn’t jump to any harsh conclusions. He knew he didn’t always appear to be the most trustworthy, especially to humans. 

The woman looked at her daughter carefully, taking the child's small hands in her own. 

“Madeline look at me. Are you alright? Did these men hurt you?”

Madeline looked back at the Witcher, then shook her head, straggly hair waving back and forth. 

“No Mama, this is Ya-sker and G-gar…” 

“Geralt,” the Witcher helped. “And this is Jaskier,” he said, gesturing to the bard. 

“Hallo,” Jaskier said with a wave of his hand. 

“And Roach,” the child shouted, pointing to the horse with eager excitement. 

“Ger-alt let me pat her head, and she sniffed my nose and it tickled.” Madeline grinned. 

“Well then,” the woman said, directing a much less skeptical glance at the two. 

“Let’s thank your new friends, shall we?” She nudged the girl’s shoulder. 

Madeline turned around. “Thank you for letting me pet your horse,” she said sweetly.

Geralt nodded, then remembered, “You’re welcome.” Adding, “I think she likes you.”

At this, the girl’s grin widened. 

“I am forever in your debt,” the woman spoke up softly, stepping closer to them so they could conversate. 

“When that… that beast came, our village was the only one affected. We asked for help. No one would bother to try.” Her voice was bitter with the pain of rejection and suffering. 

Shaking her head, she moved on from the memory.

“Madeline, here,” she turned to look down at her daughter, who was clinging tightly to her mother’s cloak while still gazing fondly at Roach, “Was separated from the rest of us on our journey to safety. I’ve been looking for her for almost two days. I thought,” the woman’s voice faltered. 

“I thought,” she trailed off, gazing at her daughter. “Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. All that matters is I’ve found her, right little bug?”

The girl grinned up at her mother and leaned heavily against her side. 

The woman picked her up, and the girl clung to her neck much like she’d done to Geralt. 

“Tell me, strangers, what can I do to repay you?”

“Please, no payment is required,” Geralt spoke up quickly. 

“If you will not let me repay you for your kindness towards my daughter, then at the very least allow my village to give you some reward, in return for slaughtering the beast that has plagued our lives.”

Geralt gave a hesitant grunt, thinking. 

“Well,” he paused. “We were heading towards your village with the hopes of finding an inn to stay the night, maybe some supplies. If you’d be so good as to take us there, that is payment enough--”

The woman held up a hand. 

“Please, allow me to provide you with a room. Our village does not have an inn, it’s quite too small. You boys can gladly stay with us for the night, if it suits you.”

“No, we couldn’t--” Geralt started to protest, but was cut off by both the bard, and the little girl. 

“That would be lovely, ma’am,” Jaskier said.

At the same time, Madeline chimed in, “Oh please, please do,” looking eagerly at the Witcher. 

Geralt sighed. He was out of his element here, and it appeared he was being outvoted. 

“Well… alright. As long as it’s no trouble?” He clarified.

“Not in the least bit,” she said.


	4. Chapter 4

They followed the woman, who introduced herself as Anala. The little girl Madeline had been allowed to walk on her own after much complaints about being held. Anala kept a close eye on her daughter, understandably uncomfortable with allowing the girl to wander. 

But Madeline stayed close - specifically, close to the Witcher. She really seemed to have taken a liking to him. 

Jaskier, who had returned to being annoyed now that he knew they’d have a place to stay the night, did not hesitate to make sure Geralt was aware of this. 

“Why does she like you? I mean, you’re not exactly approachable, are you? Out of the two of us…” he trailed off in bewilderment, trying to understand the girl’s logic. 

“I think she just likes Roach,” Geralt said. He hadn’t meant for it to come out so teasingly, but the bard’s discouragement was rather entertaining. 

Jaskier scoffed. “No, no. She likes you specifically.” Then he added, “I’d like to make it known that I am personally offended by this.”

Geralt gave a single, short laugh, and this seemed to make Jaskier even more upset. 

“And now you’re laughing at me. Unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head. 

“Oh Jaskier,” Geralt said fondly. “Don’t be upset. Not everyone will adore you. Just something you’ll have to get used to.”

“Oh believe me, I know it,” the bard said, and Geralt could tell he was thinking of several specific people that did not ‘adore’ him in the least. 

They fell into silence then, as Madeline came running up. 

Geralt was leading roach on his right, so the girl positioned herself on the Witcher’s left. 

She didn’t speak a word, but swung her arms back and forth as she walked. 

After a little while, Geralt felt a tug on his hand. He looked down, a little startled, to find that Madeline had wrapped her fingers around his.

Geralt looked as Jaskier, who looked as if he was sucking on a lemon. 

“Oh that is just… wonderful. Alright, I’ll leave you both to it then - I can see where I’m not wanted.” With that, he strode ahead of them to walk next to Anala, who was leading the way. 

Madeline looked up at the Witcher. 

“He’s funny,” she said, and it took Geralt a moment to realize that she was talking about Jaskier. 

Once he did, he laughed heartily. 

“Yes. That he is,” he agreed. 

They arrived at the village after a few hours of walking. The decision to call such a place a ‘village’ was being generous. There were maybe only a couple dozen buildings that made up the whole of it. Anala led them around these buildings until they arrived at her home, a small wooden house. 

There was a dilapidated shack to the rear where Geralt was directed to leave Roach. Madeleine was not happy to part with the horse, but Anala persuaded the girl with food, which, to the hungry child, took precedence over everything else. 

Geralt untacked the mare, making sure she had enough food and water for the night, and then headed to join the rest of the group inside. 

The house was dimly lit, and as dusk had begun to fall, it glowed like a beacon in the growing night. Geralt could feel the warmth coming from inside, and he found his emotions to be rather mixed. He always felt a little uncomfortable in villages; he always felt as if he didn’t belong, like he was an intruder to be chased out. But this village seemed nice, and anyhow: Anala’s house was at the edge, and the nearby woods put the Witcher at ease. 

Standing outside the door, Geralt listened, peering through a small, grimy window. 

The little girl was out of sight, but Jaskier was sitting at the small dining table. A bright fire was lit, and the bard was relishing the heat it threw. Anala was stooping over a counter, preparing a meal. 

Geralt felt a stab of guilt -- this woman owed him nothing -- along with the growing desire to slip away into the night. 

But then the bard caught him looking through the window. Jaskier’s face lit up in a big grin, and he waved his hand dramatically, ushering the Witcher inside. 

Geralt sighed, then opened the door. 

“Ah, there you are Geralt. Anala here is preparing us a lovely feast,” Jaskier chirped. 

The Witcher stood awkwardly for a moment, not sure what to do with himself. 

“Please, take a seat,” Anala said kindly. “Supper will be ready in just a moment. Jaskier, would you mind calling for Maddie.”

The bard looked at Geralt a little uncertain. The Witcher, not sure why Jaskier was looking to him, nodded his head after a moment, and the bard got up and headed towards a hallway at the back of the house. 

Geralt could hear him calling the girl to dinner. 

“Thank you for your hospitality. It’s a hard thing to come by, and Jaskier and I greatly appreciate it,” Geralt said quietly to the woman. 

Without turning from her task, Anala said, “Oh please -- it’s my pleasure. It is a shame, the way some people act. Especially towards those who are different.” At this, she looked up and glanced at the Wticher. 

Geralt felt himself stiffen. 

So she did know. 

He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. 

“Don’t worry, Witcher. I don’t judge people by who they are -- especially when it wasn’t their choice in the first place. Any anyhow,” Anala brought a large bowl and a stack of plates to the table. “My daughter seems to like you, and I’ve done good to trust her judgement.”

“Except when she’s running off into the woods,” she added with a smirk. 

The Witcher was thinking of how to reply when Madeline came dashing into the room, running straight up to the table. 

“I’m starving,” she shouted, bouncing up and down. 

“No, you’re not. Many people in the Continent are starving, but you, my little bug, have quite enough to eat.”

Anala brought a loaf of bread to the table, then sat down. 

“Shall we?” She smiled at them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the last chapter was a little short, I decided to post the next one as well. 
> 
> The lyrics of Jaskier's song are from the brilliant band The Amazing Devil, who Joey Batey (actor for Jaskier) and his friend Madeline Hyland (whose name I borrowed) started a couple years ago. I got the lyrics from their song 'Fair' - definitely recommend you check their stuff out, if you want :)

The meal was modest, but delicious. Geralt himself ate nearly as much as the other three combined, but no one complained. Jaskier sung Anala’s praises for the entirety of the meal, claiming he hadn’t eaten anything that tasted so good for decades. 

“Well,” he added, “I suppose that’s not saying much, since Geralt only ever feeds me stale bread and herbs, but you get the sentiment.”

Geralt grunted at his comment, but a smile danced in his eyes. He felt relaxed -- comfortable, like it was alright for him to be here. 

Jaskier insisted on washing the dishes, claiming that “They who do the cooking, shall not do the cleaning,” in a firm voice. 

Anala was hesitant at first, but seeming to understand that Jaskier was not one easily fought with, surrendered. 

“He’s determined, isn’t he,” she said to Geralt as the bard was scrubbing away, making sure to be loud enough for him to hear. 

“You should’ve seen the day we first met. Jaskier decided that he would be my traveling companion, and nothing would deter him of this. Even a punch to the gut,” the Withcer added with a sly glance at the bard.

Jaskier spun around. “Yes, and it was the biggest mistake of my life, I tell you. Did I mention that he only feeds me stale bread and herbs. Herbs!” the bard exclaimed. “Those are just…” he searched for the right word, disgust showing on his face before he settled on an apt description. “Fancy leaves!”

Geralt rolled his eyes, his head tilting too. “They’re good for you, Jaskier,” he said teasinlgy.

“Bollocks. They taste awful.” 

“Oh, but that’s how you can tell they’re good for you,” Anala chimed in with a grin. 

“Well,” Jaskier said, shaking his head and drying off the last of the dishes. “Your cooking is far superior. By several miles.”

The bard joined them at the table. 

Madeline, who had run off to change into her bedclothes, returned, bringing a stuffed bunny with her. As she padded tiredly to her seat at the table, she passed Jaskier’s lute in its case. 

“What’s that?” She asked quietly. 

Jaskier turned and, when he followed her gazing eyes, said, “That, my dear child, is a lute. An instrument gifted by the gods.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Geralt muttered. 

Jaskier gasped, offended. “Dramatic? Dramatic? Far from it, my friend.”

“What does it do?” Little Madeline asked. She was growing more exhausted by the minute, but curiosity was getting the better of her. 

“Oh yes, Jaskier -- will you play us something,” Anala asked eagerly. 

“Now you’ve done it,” Geralt said quietly, taking a sip from his cup and preparing himself for the entertainment of an unleashed bard. 

“I would be honored,” Jaskier said, and Geralt could tell he had already slipped into his performer mode. 

Pulling the lute from its case, and with a wide eyed Madeline in the front row, Jaskier’s fingers hovered over the strings. His face grew intensely serious as he decided on which song to sing. The bard tilted his head, his soft brown hair sweeping against his forehead. 

Geralt had prepared himself for another obnoxious ballad. But when Jaskier began to strum a soft, delicate tune, the Witcher found himself unable to look away. 

Jaskier, who’s brow had knitted up, began to sing in a slow, hollow, beautiful voice.

‘It’s what my heart just yearns to say  
In ways that can’t be said  
It’s what my rotting bones will sing  
When the rest of me is dead   
It’s what’s engraved upon my heart  
In letters deeply worn  
Today, I somehow understand the reason I was born 

‘Cause outwardly he says, “I try so hard to make you laugh at me”  
And she, she does, she laughs   
As though she’s not heard the joke ten thousand times before   
And he adores her  
He watches her get dressed as though she’s hurtling through time   
Oh, darling, please be mine…’

Geralt was captivated. Captivated and shocked. He had never heard Jaskier sing anything like that before. As the song continued, the bard’s audience found themselves lulled into a state of peace and contentment. The song had not been what any of them had expected, except for maybe Madeline, who still expected wonders from the world. 

Jaskier’s husky voice, full of obvious emotion, wound its way around them. In the warm firelight, as the stars twinkled above them, oblivious to what was happening below them in the little house, Geralt felt strangely calm. The Witcher also felt strangely fond of the even stranger man that sat before him. 

When Jaskier finished strumming the last chords of the song, he looked up sheepishly, as if he suddenly remembered that they were there. There were no theatrics, no bow, just an almost embarrassed look from the bard. Geralt had never seen him act in such a modest way. 

“That was beautiful, Jaskier,” Anala said, then added, “I haven’t heard a song so lovely in decades,” grinning sweetly at the bard. 

Jaskier blushed slightly, which only added to the Witcher’s amazement at this new side of his companion. 

“Aw,” Jaskier waved his hand as if to brush off the remark, but the same hand found his chest, and it was obvious to see that he was touched by her kind words. 

Madeline, who had nearly been put to sleep by the song, blinked up at Jaskier with a soft smile. 

“Your voice is so pretty. And I like the strings,” she said, gazing at his lute. 

“Thank you, love,” Jaskier said, honestly meaning it. 

“Alright little bug -- time for bed,” Anala got up from her chair with a stretch. 

Madeline found her way into her mother’s arms, and Anala hoisted her daughter up and carried her down the hallway. 

Jaskier sat staring for a moment, lute still propped against his chest. 

When he finally began to put the instrument away, Geralt spoke up. 

“I haven’t heard that song before,” he said, leaving it open for Jaskier to elaborate. 

“Uh… yes,” Jaskier said, sounding sheepish. “That’s because it’s new.”

“New?” 

“Mmhm,” Jaskier said, not meeting his eyes. 

“You mean you wrote it?” Geralt asked.

Then Jaskier did look at him, though the glance was fleeting. 

“Yes, I did. Came to me during all that miserable walking you put me through,” he said in a quiet, jesting tone. 

There was silence for a moment before Geralt finally decided to speak his mind. 

“I like it,” he said in his usual dry, even voice. 

Jaskier’s head snapped up to look at Geralt, eyes wide. 

“R-really?”

“Well, it’s definitely better than the loud ones about monsters that you use to try and entertain snobbish royalty,” Geralt said decidedly. 

The bard’s face split into a grin. 

Geralt gave him a sideways glance. “Don’t look at me like that.”

To his surprise, Jaskier actually looked away, ducking his head, but the smile did not falter. 

“Sorry -- right. It’s just…” Jaskier shook his head. “Nevermind,” he said, still smiling away. 

“Do you have more songs like that -- that you wrote,” Geralt asked, and now it was his turn to sound sheepish. 

Jaskier looked even more surprised. 

“Yes, actually. They’re not ready for an audience yet but…”

“Well maybe I’ll hear some of them during all that ‘miserable walking’ I put you through,” Geralt turned to look pointedly at the bard, and there was a fond twinkle in his eyes.

Jaskier straighten up to look Geralt in the eye, and the same twinkle was reflected back at the Witcher. 

“Maybe you will,” the bard’s voice was high with teasing and pretended indifference. 

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted, a small smile appearing on his face, which only made Jaskier’s grin return. 

Then Anala returned to show them to their room.


	6. Chapter 6

The night was spent comfortably. The room was small, as Anala had been using it for storage, so there wasn’t much room; but it was much better than sleeping outside, Jaskier thought. 

Anala apologetically told them that there was only one spare cot, though she gave them a sideways look that said she thought it might not be a problem for them. 

“That’s fine, thank you,” Geralt said, then with a smirk, added, “Jaskier here loves sleeping on the floor, don’t you?” He plopped a heavy hand onto the bard’s shoulder. 

Jaskier looked so crestfallen that Anala couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Well, I’m sure you boys will figure it out. Play nice,” she said with a wink, her tone motherly. 

“Oh, we always do,” Jaskier said sarcastically. 

With a warm smile and a “sleep well,” Anala left them to settle in. 

Geralt let Jaksier have the cot.

He was the one who’d been walking, after all. And if he hadn’t surrendered, the Witcher was almost certain that the bard would do nothing but complain the next day about how his back hurt, or he hadn’t gotten enough rest on the cold, hard floor. A night spent on the ground was far more desirable than a day of enduring Jaskier’s complaints. 

But despite their conditions, both men slept better than they had in ages. Even Geralt who would, more often than not, lie awake for hours thinking and worrying slept well that night. When the morning finally came, with birdsong and a soft haze filtering the sunlight into a hushed glow, both the bard and the Witcher rose feeling refreshed and ready for their next adventure. 

Anala had prepared them a hot breakfast, and the three dined together as the sun broke through the morning mist. 

After their meal, Anala tapped her finger on the table as she stared at nothing in particular. After a few moments of this, she suddenly rose, heading towards the pantry and retrieving two bundles wrapped in clean cloth, one scarlet, one blue. 

She brought them back to the table. 

“I wasn’t sure when you boys planned on leaving. I don’t mean to rush,” she added hurriedly. “You’re welcome to say here as long as you wish. Madeline and I would sure like you to...” 

She looked at Geralt, getting the feeling that he wasn’t the kind to linger in one place for very long. 

She continued. “But, I reckoned I’d have something prepared for you, in case you were ready to move on.” 

At that, she pushed the two bundles across the table to rest in front of her guests. 

Jaskier received the blue bundle, Geralt the red. 

As if reading their expressions, she said with a grin, “Madeline was very specific as to the colors I was to give you. She insisted that Jaskier would prefer the blue.”

“Well,” Jaskier piped up, “Be sure to tell her that she was correct. It’s like…” He thought. “Like the color of the sky on the clearest morning.”

“You’ll be able to tell her yourself. She was also very insistent that I was to wake her, should you both decide to leave this morning. Had to assure her I wouldn’t allow you to step foot out of the house until she could say goodbye, before the girl would even think of falling asleep.” She laughed fondly. 

“We’re very grateful for your kindness. Really,” Geralt said, giving the woman a small smile. 

“Oh,” she waved her hand, “Anything for some friendly strangers. If you’re ever in the area again, you’ll have to pop by and say hello.”

“We’ll be sure to do that,” Geralt said. 

Though he couldn’t be sure where the future would take him, he always took care to keep track of friendly faces, as they were so hard to come by.

At that moment, their conversation was interrupted by the young girl, who had silently appeared in the hallway. 

“You’re leaving?” She asked, sounding rather deflated. 

“Our new friends have to get on their way, my bug,” Anala said kindly. 

“Oh,” the girl’s voice wobbled with sadness. 

Anala walked over to her daughter, stooping down and taking both of the girl’s hands in her own. 

“Don’t be sad my darling. Maybe destiny will allow us to meet them again some day. But for now, they have to follow their own path, and we have to follow ours. Understand?”  
The girl nodded. 

“Good,” Anala smiled. “Then shall we say our goodbyes and see them out?”

“Yes,” Madeline replied. 

Neither Geralt nor Jaskier had expected to find such an ocean of kindness overflowing from such a small village. Neither Geralt nor Jaskier had expected to be met with such friendly faces, or such good company as Anala and her daughter had provided. Both the bard and the Witcher were surprised by how reluctant they were to leave.

Jaskier found himself thinking of what he could possibly say to convince Geralt to remain another night - to finally settle down for a bit. 

Geralt found himself thinking of all the possible excuses that would justify staying in one place for a little while. 

In the end, they both knew that they needed to move on - to keep going forward, lest they get stuck where they didn’t belong. Geralt reminded himself that a Wticher couldn’t hold a domestic life, and it simply wouldn’t be the right fit for him. Likewise, Jaskier knew that he couldn’t stay put in a small village with no opportunities to make a living (and no pubs, he added as an afterthought, which ultimately sealed the deal). 

They had to move on. 

Adding the red and blue bundles to their supplies, Geralt tacked Roach up while Jaskier gathered the rest of their meager belongings. When they were ready to part ways, Anala and her daughter stood with them outside the house to say goodbye. 

Madeline, of course, ran up to Roach first. Complying with her wishes, Geralt lifted the child up so she could give the mare a final pat. 

“G’bye Roach,” she said softly.

When she turned from the horse, the girl wrapped her arms tightly around Geralt’s neck. 

“Thank you for saving me from the monster,” she murmured. 

Geralt patted her back gently, then put her down. 

Once her feet touched the ground, she shyly stepped up to a surprised Jaskier. 

After a moment of hesitant fidgeting, Madeline threw her arms around the bard’s waist. 

“Thank you for singing for us,” she said.

Jaskier pressed his lips together in an emotional smile, then returned the girl’s hug. 

“I pray I’ll get the chance to sing for such a lovely audience again someday,” he said, looking first at the girl, and then at her mother, who was watching them with misty eyes. 

“Alright Maddie,” she said, and the girl released Jaskier and went to stand by the door. 

Anala approached Geralt, leaning forward to give him a kiss on the cheek. 

“Thank you for bringing my daughter home,” she whispered into his ear. 

Geralt nodded his head, returning her kindness with a soft expression.

Then she made her way to Jaskier, giving him a kiss as well. 

“Your talent is astounding. I hope to hear you play again.”

Jaskier ducked his head modestly, but returned her smile. 

“Thank you for your delicious meal,” he returned the compliment.

With their goodbyes said, Geralt climbed onto Roach. 

He nodded his thanks to the woman who had shown him so much kindness. To the girl, he gave a small wave before signaling Roach into movement. 

Jaskier, far more flamboyant than the Witcher, was walking backwards in order to wave as they headed away from the village. This, unsurprisingly, resulted in him tripping and nearly falling on his backside, which made Anala and Madeline laugh. 

The last thing they saw before disappearing into the woods were the two figures, still waving eagerly. The last thing they heard was their laughter, light and charming, and it followed Geralt and Jaskier long after the sound of it died away.


	7. Epilogue

It wasn’t until later that night, once they had set up camp, that the two men remembered the bundles they had been given. 

They were sitting around a small fire, and had just gotten done eating a dinner of cold bread and some dried meat. 

“I miss her cooking already,” Jaskier said wistfully. 

“It hasn’t even been a day,” Geralt reminded him. 

“I know,” the bard whined, “that’s how good it is. I’ll never taste anything like it again -- and surely not on my travels with you.”

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted. And then, “What about the packs she gave us?” He said evenly, suddenly remembering.

Jaskier sat up. “Oh, you’re right. I completely forgot. Well go on, hand mine over.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes at the bard, but all the same, reached into his saddlebag and fished out the blue bundle, tossing it over the fire. 

“Oi -- careful,” Jaskier complained. 

Ignoring him, Geralt pulled out his own, the scarlet color glowing fiercely in the firelight. 

Geralt tugged at the string holding the cloth together. When it came unfastened, he pushed the edges of the fabric apart until he was able to see what had been stored inside.   
There was an apple, shiny and red, and a loaf of freshly baked bread. 

And about two dozen little daisies. 

Some still had the stems and leaves, others were just the simple, snow white flowers, bright yellow dots peeking out from the center of the petals. 

Without bothering to hide it, Geralt smiled, picking up one of the delicate flowers. 

He looked up and found Jaskier holding a handful of dandelions, the slim, fuzzy petals glowing a vibrant yellow by the light of the fire, a beaming grin stretched across his face. 

“What a little wonder,” Jaskier muttered, his voice hitched with happiness. 

Geralt wasn’t sure if he was referring to the flowers or the little girl that had so thoughtfully given them, but either way, he agreed. 

What a wonder life could be.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any suggestions or comments, feel free to leave them! Also, you can find me on tumblr @orangechickenpillow if you want to pop by and say hello :)
> 
> Stay safe and well <3


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